Alex's Journal

Well, I’ve posted the eighth and final installment of my Tales of Fate series. I decided to just quickly post them all so I can move on. From here on out, I will be posting better and more normal short stories. I’ve still got several to post and will spend the next several weeks posting them I think. I am still trying to decide on a decent format for posting some of the longer ones. Perhaps I will break them up into several different posts so they are not exceedingly long posts.

I’ve also just finished one of the books I’ve been working on for the past couple of months. Really, I do read a lot, but I tend to read three or four books at a time, meaning that they take a bit longer to read. The book I just finished is called 100 Vicious Little Vampire Stories edited by Robert Weinberg, Stefan Dziemianowicz and Martin Greenberg. As the title implies, it is a collection of short vampire stories. I really don’t know why, but I’ve always found short stories more entertaining than longer stories. It’s possible that my attention span is not up to the task of focusing on a long story. That could also explain my tendency to read several books at once.

My mother is dead. She shot herself on the cold winter night of my birthday. That happened only two years ago. When the phone call came, my family and I were eating breakfast. My three year old daughter had just learned the word “suicide.”

It was on this cursed day that I heard my daughter say the word for the first time. She said it, then laughed. The laugh of a little girl.

A year later, we were eating dinner when my daughter said something. I couldn’t hear very well because a loud bang echoed through the house. But I knew right away was she had said. With the table between us, my wife laid with her face in her plate. In her lap sat my pistol. My daughter continued eating.

I’ve just heard my daughter say “suicide.” She’s watching me, as I have my pistol to my head and my finger is pulling the trigger.

You wouldn’t want to be me. My friends are gone, but I’m still laying here. They are the people who have put me in this place.

I’m laying here and am watching the darkness. The air is old and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to breathe soon.

I’m only thinking about why I’m here. How? Who shoveled the first dirt? I thought this should have been a very quick experiment. I believed that I could have trusted my friends. But I was wrong.

The air is becoming unbreathable. I’m falling asleep and I will soon sleep where the dead sleep.

She’s sleeping so peacefully. Her hair feels so soft and she smells so good. I can’t wait until I can sink my fangs through her skin. I’m already drooling. I can feel a drop of spit on my chin.

I bend over and turn the virgin’s head. Her vein looks so good. I lower my head and open my mouth. A drop of spit falls onto the neck of the woman, but I don’t notice.

I can taste her warm blood as I sink my fangs into her. It tastes so good. The moon is still shining in the sky. But it’s turning crimson.

I’ve lived here for a long time. My family before me also lived here. But I’m the last one that will live here. I have no kids; no wife.

No one comes here and I don’t go out. Why would I? I need no food; no water.

I’ve been dead for a long time and yet, I continue to live. I was born 150 years ago and died 132 years ago. My house is empty and there isn’t anything to do. I have no friends; no desire to be.

I want to die. But I can’t do that. I’m sure I’ll die of dehydration before this damn rope kills me.

The desert is very very hot and expansive. I can’t see anything. I don’t want to see anything. I’m here entirely alone and I’m waiting for death. My hands are tied and my feet reach for the ground. They’re out of reach though.

I’m thirsty but I continue to cry. I’m sure there’s only one tree tree in the entire desert. And I’m still hanging from it; waiting for death.

I saw the man. I leaned over the coffin and saw his pale face. It looked very peaceful, but I knew better. I knew the torment that comes with death.

On the day of the funeral, a lot more people came than I had expected. All of the people wore black clothing. I looked for a seat and sat down. The funeral would begin soon. I waited. No one came to talk to me. That didn’t surprise me though. I didn’t expect anyone would.

When the burial ceremony began, everyone went to the graveyard. Six of the guests carried the casket on which there were flowers placed. All of the guests were quiet. No birds sang. No breeze blew. You could hear nothing but your own heart beat. I sat and waited.

The preacher’s voice broke the silence. He began reading the Last Rites which floated through the air. I stood up and went to where the ceremony was being held. There I saw the coffin which held the corpse again.

I watched the ceremony until it had ended and the coffin had been buried. Everyone left one after the other and I continued to stand there. When everyone had left, I went over to the gravestone. I sat down on the ground and touched the words which were engraved in the headstone. I knew the name very well. Too well. I closed my eyes whilst a tear ran down my cheek. Everything was quiet. Not even a bird sang.

With teary eyes, I read the name again. It was my own name. I leaned on the gravestone and began to weep.

The Tales of Fate are very short and very odd pieces of writing I wrote many years ago and as such, I feel an explanation is necessary. Thus far I’ve posted only four of them, but there are eight total.

Now for a bit of background information. I began writing them towards the end of high school which was a relatively dark period for me. The stories, therefore, are quite dark. Originally they were written in German as I was starting to learn the language and then I translated them into English. That is why they are so simple and short as my German was not very good at that time.

In writing them, I was somewhat inspired by Natsume Soseki’s Ten Nights of Dreams which consists of ten very short stories that are equally as odd and dark. Soseki was a very dark author and his work is very comparable to that of Edgar Allen Poe. But I digress.

The Tales of Fate are nothing more than simple situational stories with a dark twist. I have not written any for years, so after I have posted all eight of them, there will not be anymore. I will begin posting more of my recent writings which are considerably better in my opinion.

Couldn’t you see it?

I was walking alone. From the endless black road on which I travelled, you could see nothing but the enormous desert. The sun was hot and the head was dry. A dead lizard was lying on the road.

I was completely alone and I wondered if I would survive the walk to the next city. Then the thing came. I first heard the awful noise of the wings and turned around calmly. It then seized me in its large legs. It grabbed my head and picked me up into the air. We went higher and higher until the road looked like nothing more than a small line.

Then the thing let me go. The sound of it slowly faded and I could only here the quiet air. Everything was peaceful. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

There I sat. In the darkness. Alone. My child had just died and I sat near his grave. I lifted my head and looked at the stars. There was a light breeze which I could feel in my hair. The sky was clear and all of the stars were bright and wonderful. They were so beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

On the child’s grave, the words

were written. When you read these at this place, you can feel the tears of the child. But the stars were so beautiful.

The breeze got stronger and a shabby tree caught my attention. I could hear a melody in the wind which I used to play for my child when I put him to bed. I began to smell a rotten smell rising from the ground. I shuttered.

Next to the tree I could see something. It was white, but not very bright in the dark graveyard. It stood there. It looked at me. I looked up. The stars were so beautiful.